Fanning the Flames
by Descolbabe
Summary: "Nothing will ever change this animal I have become" Desmond Sycamore finally begins to recover from his encounter with Targent, but fate has other plans for him. Sequel to Forged in Fire and Extinguished.
1. I

"...So _technically, _the rest of the crest could be some sort of a map!"

It's hard not to laugh at Mackintosh. He's so enthusiastic, it's almost endearing. All the same, I don't want to risk insulting him. We've all had our ridiculous theories in the past, after all.

"I somehow doubt that, Mack." I respond, sounding more amused than I had planned. "Nothing on Dr. Schrader's fragment of the crest suggests that there's a hidden map."

"So?" At least Mackintosh doesn't look put out. "That's just a piece of the crest. Who's to say what's on the rest of it?"

That sends an unwelcome chill down my spine. I freeze for a moment before I remember that no, he couldn't know the truth. No one could possibly know. The fragment of the crest is my best kept secret. In the two years since it's discovery, no one has even thought about asking any questions.

Still, a part of me can't help but be paranoid when I take into account that the "missing" piece of the crest that Mackintosh is referring to is in this very room.

Apparently, Mackintosh takes my pause for conceding. "Yeah, that's right!" He half laughs at me. "So technically, I could be right! Besides," he gestures to one of the books in the stack next to us, "Rutledge theorized that the Azran were fond of hidden puzzles and riddles."

"Yes, well, that was Rutledge." I point out, teasing now. "Genius though he was, you must admit he was rather…"

"Dry?" My research partner supplies. "Boring? Irritating?"

"...I mean, I was going to say 'based in hypothesis,' but I suppose that is also true."

Once again, I have to hold back a laugh. Mackintosh looks like a child caught with one hand in the cookie jar.

"...Still." He decides to press on after a moment. "If Rutledge's hypotheses are to believed, it's entirely possible that the Ambrosian crest is some sort of puzzle, and that puzzle could lead to unlocking their secrets!"

"Alright, alright." This time, there is no mistaking the fact that I am conceding. I hold up my hands to emphasize this point. "Try to save some argument for Dr. Gallagher, yes?"

I'm assuming that Mackintosh is joking when he decides to act put off that I am not praising his genius. "Fine." He says in a tone of mock irritation as he packs up his books and his papers. "But when I blow everyone away with my thesis, just remember that I gave you the opportunity to get in on it."

I laugh out loud. "I will do my very best to remember." I assure him. "Now get out my house, you bumpkin."

My childish research partner sticks out his tongue at me as he finishes packing up. "Fine, you oaf." He teases back. "Give my love to Mary, will you?"

"Of course." My chuckling doesn't stop even after the study door closes behind him.

As I pack up my own research, I reflect on how fortunate I am to have partnered with Mackintosh, especially considering that I almost didn't apply for graduate school in the first place. For so long, I worried that my research would somehow lead me to getting captured again. And to be fair, I can't exactly say that the fear of being captured again has died away, but… I find myself feeling happy again. I am smiling and laughing at jokes again and I am doing what I love.

A great deal of that has to do with Mackintosh Smith. It's refreshing, to have a friend that I work so well with. Not that I have much of a frame of reference save for a few years of memories, but he is almost like a little brother to me.

God knows how badly I have needed positive familial relationships in my life these past few years.

I won't pretend that I'm not still haunted by what transpired between myself and Leon Bronev. The memories have not died down and I suspect they never will. No, they are a burden I must live with for the rest of my life.

It's just nice to finally feel like they won't drown me anymore.

* * *

Packing up the last of my papers into my desk, I make my way out of the study. Mary should be home from her own research soon enough. We'll still have time to get dinner and catch up before the evening is over.

God, when did I start smiling this much again?

I spot a figure in the foyer and for a moment I think that Mary must have come home early. But no, this person is taller than Mary, and they seem to be looking for something in their bag…

"Is everything alright, Mackintosh?" I ask, half amused again.

My research partner looks up from his digging and spots me. "Ah. Yeah. I think I left one of my papers with you."

"Oh." Well, that's easily rectifiable. "I probably put it away with my things. If you like I can go look for it."

"Nah, that's fine." he waves off the offer, making his way back to the study. "Just let me know where and I'll grab it myself, okay?"

That's just like Mackintosh. The stubborn fool has to do everything for himself at all times.

"Top right drawer of my desk!" I call back to him as he goes into the study.

"Yeah, yeah!" He waves back at me as he shuts the door behind him.

* * *

It wasn't the first time that Mackintosh had accidentally left pieces of research behind, so he wasn't all that concerned. He would just have to grab it quick and dash if he wanted to get dinner in and still have time to study later.

He was so close to completing his thesis now, he could almost taste it. This research would not only earn him his Master's Degree, but if done right, it could make him a prominent figure in the field of Azran research. It would be a dream come true.

Now if only he could remember which bloody drawer Desmond had said his papers were in. There were certain disadvantages to being so scattered.

'_It was top… something.' _He pushed himself to remember. '_Top left?' _Alas, there were no papers in that drawer.

'_No wait, he said right! Bottom right!' _Once again, the young archaeologist was met with disappointing results.

Frantically, he pulled out another drawer at random, praying that he would have better luck this time. He really needed that paper back if he wanted to be ready before Monday's class, after all. However, the center drawer held no papers in it. Mackintosh slid it closed in despair-

_click!_

It was a small sound, but it still took the young researcher by surprise. Readjusting his glasses, he looked around for its source. To his surprise, he realized that the middle left drawer of the desk had popped out slightly.

'_Huh. Weird.'_

Mackintosh wasn't sure that he believed in a divine power, but this seemed to be a sign. Enthusiastically, he pulled the drawer out in hopes of finding his paper and accidentally pulled it completely out of the desk.

'_Oops!' _He really hoped Desmond would forgive him.

He tried to push the drawer back into place, but found that he could not align it correctly. Kneeling down, he inspected the slot where the drawer had been. He would have to position the drawer _just so _if he wanted to-

He was immediately distracted by what he saw when he looked further back. There was a keyhole in the back of the slot. A keyhole and hinges.

'_Woah. Leave it to Desmond Sycamore to have a secret panel in his desk.' _

Mackintosh knew that he ought to just leave it be. Desmond was his friend, after all, and he didn't want to poke his nose where it didn't belong. But then, it also wasn't every day that he came across a secret panel…

'_It's probably locked anyway.' _He figured. '_What's the harm in trying?'_

His intellectual curiosity getting the better of him, Mackintosh gave a small pull at the hidden door and it opened just a crack.  
He wondered if he ought to stop here, but if Desmond had left it unlocked it couldn't be _that _big of a deal…


	2. II

"Desmond?"

I turn away from my dinner preparations when I hear my name called and roll my eyes when I realize that it's still Mackintosh. He probably forgot which drawer I told him to look in. Again.

Wiping my hands on a towel, I make my way toward the foyer. "I said the top right drawer, Mackint-"

I stop mid sentence at the look on his face, my concern rising. "Is… is something the matter?"

For a moment, he looks at me as if he can't really process what I am saying. He looks lost and confused, like he is trying to take in too much information at once. I've seen variations of this look before in class or while studying particularly difficult topic matter, but I have never seen it outside of an academic context…

"Mackintosh?" I press, worried now. My partner gives a small jump.

"What? Oh. Um, yeah." He fidgets with the strap of his messenger bag. "Sorry, I was just… top right drawer, you said?"

"Yes?" I chuckle nervously. "Is something else the matter?"

"...Nope." He doesn't look convinced. "Everything is fine. Later!"

"Um, Mackintosh?" I call after him as he makes his way to the front door. He freezes upon hearing his name. "Weren't you going to get that paper?"

After a moment, he turns back to me with a smile. "Oh! Right!" He knocks his temple jokingly. "Sorry. Scatterbrain."

Well, he's not wrong there. "Do you want me to grab it?" I laugh as the words come out of my mouth. "We wouldn't want you to forget again-"

"Nope! I've got it!" He all but runs for the study door. "I'll remember this time!"

"...Okay then." I'm not sure whether to be amused or concerned at this point, but I ultimately decide to let it go.

It can't be that big of a deal, right?

* * *

'_Put it back, put it back, put it _back_!'_

Mackintosh pulled on the middle left drawer frantically, trying to get it to come back out of the desk. He was making a mistake. He couldn't steal from Desmond, they were friends! It wasn't right, none of this.

Besides, this probably wasn't the real thing. There was no way that Desmond Sycamore was in possession of the missing piece of the Ambrosian Crest. It was lost, it had been lost for thousands of years! This was probably a mock up of the missing piece, a model based on theory of what the other half could potentially look like.

...Right?

Mackintosh pulled harder at the drawer, but it did not budge. Resigned, he crouched down and started pushing back its contents, trying to reach the back of it to see if there was some way to manually remove it. He was so focused on his search that he didn't even notice the door opening.

"Oh, lord." Desmond's voice startled the younger archaeologist, causing him to jump.

"What?" He asked, trying not to sound defensive. He had never really seen Desmond angry before, but he got the feeling that he just break that streak if his partner realized he had stolen from him.

"What did I just say?" Mackintosh fought the urge to flee as Desmond walked closer to him.

"Uhhh…" He had to stall. If he could buy enough time, Desmond would leave the study and he could find a way to put the relic back. "'Get out of my house, you bumpkin?'"

Desmond laughed, startling Mackintosh yet again. "No, I said '_top_ left drawer." With that, the older man pushed the middle drawer shut and opened the top one. It was only then that Mackintosh realized that Desmond's tone had been filled with amusement this entire time. He had no idea that he had been robbed by his friend.

"Oh yeah, silly me." Mackintosh played innocent which got a chuckle out of Desmond, who was currently sifting through the papers in his desk. "You know how I am with things like that."

"Yes, I am all too familiar." Desmond smiled as he pulled one particular paper out from the bunch. "How is it that a genius like yourself cannot follow simple directions?" The words should have been cutting, but they were said with so much affection that Mackintosh would have smiled under different circumstances.

"Oh, I dunno…" He replied nervously. Any chance he had at returning the stone slab in his bag was vanishing quickly. "I just… hey Des, did you notice that the middle drawer doesn't come out all the way?"

He wasn't sure what prompted him to say those words aloud, but they earned him a critical stare from his research partner.

"...Actually no, it does." The curly haired man replied too casually. He was trying to hide something. "It's actually just shorter than the other drawers. A manufacturing mistake, I'm sure. I'd considered writing them to let them know, but it's not that big of a problem so I let it slide."

Desmond was lying.

'_There's no reason for him to lie to you,'_ the voice of doubt whispered in his ear, '_not over a fake relic. The only reason he would lie was if this is the real deal.'_

But no, that didn't make sense. If Desmond had the real thing, why would he hide it? This relic was the key to unlocking the secrets of the most advanced civilization in history, why lock it away? better yet, why waste time writing a thesis about a relic that you were hiding in your desk?

'_Isn't it obvious?' _He realized. '_He's hiding it so that he can write a better thesis than you, and he'll unveil it just in time to publish his research.'_

"...is everything alright?" Desmond sounded very concerned for a liar and a fiend.

'_He's using you.' _Mackintosh realized. '_He's using your ideas for his own research, and he'll leave you behind when he's done.'_

"Yeah." Mackintosh found lying a lot easier all of a sudden. "Everything is fine. I'm gonna get going now, alright?"

Sycamore looked concerned, but did not fight it. "Alright then. I will see you on Monday. Good luck studying!"

Mackintosh didn't look back as he waved, nor did he reply. His mind was already racing.

He had a lot of revision to do on his thesis.

* * *

**A/N: **Here we are at the second installment of _Fanning the Flames!_

Thank you so much for the overwhelmingly positive response to this story! It's been really encouraging over the past week to see this continuously gain notes.

So this is the chapter that my beta reader, LavenderLoveLife, makes fun of my for, because it's where I take a minor, baby side character and turn him into a jerk. But hey, that's the power of fanfiction, right? You have the power to take the canon into your hands and play with it, and the power to take side characters and give them more depth!

Feel free to reblog and/or review, and I'll see you this Saturday with a whole new story, _Stress Fracture,_ and then again on Thursday for a new chapter here!


	3. III

Something is very wrong.

There is no way that Mackintosh would miss class, not when he is supposed to be presenting his thesis. He's been waiting for this for months - no, _years. _There is no way he would miss this moment. Not of his own accord.

I barely pay attention for the entirety of class. Something is wrong. Mackintosh is hurt.

A billion of scenarios have run through my head by the time class finally ends, each one worse than the last. The moment I am free, I make a beeline for Dr. Gallagher's desk.

"Doctor!" I call out as I approach. "Dr. Gallagher!"

"Hmm?" The older man turns back to me. "Is something the matter, Mr. Sycamore?"

"Well," _yes. _"I was just wondering… have you heard anything from Mackintosh? He was supposed to be presenting today -"

"Mr. Smith?" I freeze at the look of surprise and concern on his face. "...I had assumed you were coming to tell me that _you_ had heard something." He says after a moment.

_No._

Oh god. Something terrible has happened to Mackintosh. He could be hurt or ill or… or…

I must look worried, because when Gallagher speaks again, he is uncharacteristically comforting. "I'm sure everything is fine." He attempts to reassure me. "It's hardly the first time a student has missed class."

I know he's right, but Mackintosh isn't just any student. He _loves _his research and his studying. would rather die than miss class.

He may have.

"…I'm going to go check on him." I announce after a moment. The professor nods approvingly back at me.

"Yes, I believe you ought to do just that." He responds far too calmly, as if he can't see the direness of the situation. "Put your mind at ease…"

I'm sure he says more than that, but I'm already too far away to hear him. I have to find Mackintosh, and now.

* * *

"Mackintosh?" I call as I knock on the door for a third time. "Mackintosh, are you in there?"

I've been standing in front of his apartment door for nearly three minutes now, and he hasn't answered me yet. Three minutes!

He's hurt, I just know it. He's either hurt in there or hurt somewhere else. Come to think of it, I haven't heard from ever since he left my house on Friday night. What if he got hit by a car on his way home? What if he was mugged and left to die?

Even if he isn't hurt - the most likely option - he could be sick in there. He could have caught some deadly disease ever since I last saw him. He could be too sick to answer the door, or too miserable to do so. He could be so sick that he's given up on medication and he is waiting for the worst to come -

"-Mackintosh!" I pound on the door with renewed vigor. "Mackintosh, it's Desmond! Please, if you're in there, answer me!"

No response.

'_Calm down, Desmond.' _I try to tell myself. '_He's probably just out right now. Maybe he's buying medicine.' _

I can't stand here forever, no matter how tempting it may be. I resolve to stop by after my next class to check on him again. He will definitely be back by then.

...Right?

With that resolution in mind, I make my way out of the building. I keep telling myself that everything is fine, that I will see Mackintosh later today and that he will prove that all of this worrying is unnecessary. It would be nice if I believed it, but I suppose it's the effort that counts.

I glance back at the building as I make my way back to campus, and something catches my eye. There is a window open on the third floor. Mackintosh's window. But that doesn't make any sense, Mackintosh hates the cold. He always complains when I crack a window open while we study. There are only two reasons why he would do that: either he isn't there because he's dying in an alley, or his fever has gotten so bad that he is desperate for cold air.

That's it. I _need _to check on him.

I look around to make sure that no one is looking. I like to pretend that being trained as a gentleman has dulled all of my instincts from life on the streets, after all, and I wouldn't want anybody to learn differently.

Once I am completely sure that no one will notice, I scale the side of the building and climb through the window.

Something crunches under my feet upon landing. Upon further inspection, I realize that there was already broken glass there, likely an overturned vase.

When I look up again, I wish the vase was the most suspicious part of the apartment.

The place has been wrecked. Furniture is overturned, papers are scattered all across the floor, dishes are broken. The classic signs of a struggle. I would know, as my childhood home once looked the same.

"...Mackintosh?" I call out hesitantly, although I already know that he will not reply. I've seen the after effects of a kidnapping before, after all.

"Mackintosh!" The shout tears its way out of me before I can stop it. My eyes sting as they fill with tears and my vision becomes blurry.

I can't breathe. I can't think. Mackintosh has been taken. Somebody has hurt him, they took him and they destroyed his home.

Despite the coulded state of my vision, something in the wreckage catches my eye. It's small, but it's definitely out of place. Careful not to trip over the overturned furniture, I make my way toward the offending piece and pick it up.

It's a blue hat, and above the brim is the Targent crest.

* * *

"_Mother? Father?" I called as I crept out of the pantry, standing protectively in front of Theodore. Those men in the uniforms had made a mess of our house, everything was torn up or broken or tossed aside. _

"_Mother?! Father?!" I called again, and this time it was a scream. I needed them to come out, to tell us that everything was going to be okay. _

_But they couldn't._

_They had been taken. They were gone. Targent had taken them away from me._

"_Hershel?" The small, scared voice of Theodore stopped me in my tracks. "Are they going to get us?"_

"_...Everything is going to be alright, Theodore." I tried to reassure him, but my own voice was weak. "Everything will be alright. Nobody is going to hurt you, I promise."_

* * *

This is my fault. I should have been here. I was supposed to protect him. I should have never let him out on his own. I knew how dangerous it was to be researching the Azran, I should have prepared him for this!

Rage stirs deep within me as the shock dies away. My enemy has returned once again and they have taken my friend. They have made this personal once again.

The hat crumples in my hands. This is their last mistake.


	4. IV

"Research trip?" Mary repeated to make sure she was hearing him correctly.

"Yes." Her husband repeated over his shoulder as he continued packing hurriedly. "It's a wonderful opportunity."

"But isn't it a bit sudden?" She pressed warily. Every other research trip Desmond had been had come with at least a month's advance warning so that he could prepare adequately. Springing this on him last second seemed unkind of Dr. Gallagher, to say the least.

And that was just Dr. Gallagher. It was uncharacteristic of Desmond to accept a position on a research trip when he hadn't had time to prepare. He was meticulous in his work, and he didn't like being thrown curveballs like this.

"It is," Desmond replied as he pulled a second suitcase down from the top shelf of his closet. "But like I said, it's an excellent opportunity to further my research. This could accelerate my thesis by _years._"

"That does sound exciting." She agreed, still hesitant. "Will Mackintosh be going as well?"

It did not escape Mary's notice that Desmond froze for a moment when she asked the question.

"Yes, of course he will." He sounded rather nonchalant for someone who had just frozen. "In fact, he left a few days early. I will be meeting him there."

"So he knew about this before you did and he didn't mention it?" She allowed herself to sound skeptical.

Desmond didn't turn to face her when he answered, but stayed intently focused on his packing. "I suppose he may have mentioned it." He replied evenly. "I just didn't think that I would receive an invitation to join them at the excavation site, so I didn't mention it."

Mary certainly had her doubts. Her intuition was telling her that something was off, that there were too many red flags in this story and that she ought to try to get to the bottom of it.

Still. Desmond had never lied to her before.

She closed the distance between her and her husband in a few strides and placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Once he turned toward her, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Promise me that you will be careful?"

Desmond smiled at her affectionately. No doubt, he was remembering the state he had returned in from his last trip to an excavation site as vividly as she was. Momentarily leaving his packing alone, he reached forward and took her free hand in both of his.

"I promise, Mary." His sincerity put her heart at ease. "Everything will be fine, you have my word."

* * *

For a top secret organization, it is surprisingly easy to track down local Targent bases. Then again, it is only Targent's methods and motives that are secret. They are a company, and companies are difficult to hide.

Especially companies with large research facilities out in the French countryside.

I left home only a couple of days ago, and I have already reached the research facility. Now it's just a matter of getting in.

After tucking loose strands of my hair back under my beanie hat, I put on my sunglasses. It doesn't really do much to conceal my face, but hopefully it is enough. While I don't think Leon Bronev will be here, I don't want to take any chances.

The last thing I need is a repeat of last time.

It's difficult to fight down the burning rage inside of me at the sight of the facility, but I do my very best to keep it under wraps. I need to focus if I want to help Mackintosh. Besides, I can't afford another two years of nightmares. This has to be done the right way.

* * *

Slipping past the outer defenses unnoticed is all too easy. Over the years, I have become very good at being unnoticed when I want to be, and this is hardly the first time that this skill has come in handy, and I somehow doubt that it will be the last.

As I peek out from behind some rather large crates, I realize that getting into the building will be more difficult. There are three entrances that I can see; two on the ground level and one on the upper level. All of them are manned by two guards. If I mess up at whichever entrance I choose, they will call for the aid of the other four guards and I will likely be overwhelmed.

_Think, Desmond. _I urge myself. _This is just another puzzle. Think outside the box._

I find myself eyeing the steps that lead up to the second level. Getting to that entrance will take longer, but it has the strategic advantage of being further away than the others. If I mess up and the guards call for backup, it will take longer for their companions to get up there than it would if one of the first level guards called for aid.

That's exactly the angle I'm looking for.

So I find myself creeping around, staying out of sight and avoiding any well lit areas. I'm grateful that there is a new moon tonight, as it makes staying hidden so much easier. Getting closer to the building is difficult, as it is better lit the closer I get, but I manage to get to the staircase without being noticed.

Time to strike.

There is no way for me to sneak up on the guards once I reach the top of the stairs, so I throw myself at the first one. I manage to stifle his scream of surprise, but his partner's gasp is loud enough that it might give me away. I need to act fast.

The first guard manages to throw me off, but I land on my feet. He tries to grab me, but I dodge it and land a solid kick to his stomach. I round on the second guard and jab at his head, but he dodges. He tries to punch me, but I catch his arm and use his momentum against him, flipping him over and into the first guard. It's all over very quickly, and I snatch the keycard from the second guard's belt while he is still disoriented.

_This is the time to strike. They are guilty of defending my enemy, and they must burn with it-_

No!

I fight down my rage as I swipe the keycard, opening the door. I'm not going to kill anyone, never again. As much as I despise them, I need to let them go-

My thoughts become muddled when something hits the back of my head.

"We have an intruder on the second floor!" I hear a voice say. Damn, the second guard got up in the time I was deliberating. Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_

I try to get up, but he kicks me down again. I look to the side and realize that his partner is coming to as well. This is not good.

_Destroy. Burn. Kill - _In the time it takes me to bury the monster inside me, the first guard has risen to his feet.

I hear the sound of footsteps below. The other guards are approaching the stairs, no doubt. I am struggling with just two guards, how am I supposed to handle six?!

_You can't. Not while you're fighting yourself. _

This was easy last time. My attacks had been brutal, but they kept me alive. The fire may have burnt me, but it also got me through the desert. Without the flames, I am nothing.

I give in.

As soon as I stop fighting it, the inferno of my wrath consumes me. I burn bright, I am a supernova. For the first time in two years, I remember what it is to be alive.

I sweep the second guard's feet out from under him, knocking him to the ground. Taking advantage, I snatch the gun off of his belt and smack him across the side of the head with it. Seeing this, the first guard charges me.

This is almost too easy.

When he lunges to grab me, I slide out of the way with ease. For a moment he is disoriented, and I fire a round into his back. He falls to the ground.

I look down at the firearm in my hand in disgust. It's such an unelegant weapon, and so _noisy_. Give me a blade any day of the week.

"_104! Come in, 104" _A voice screeches over the second guard's walkie talkie.

Careful not to step in the first guard's blood, I step over him and swipe the walkie talkie from his unconscious companion.

"This is 104." I say into it, mimicking the voice I heard only moments ago.

"_We heard shots fired at your location," _The screeching voice is starting to become irritating. I play with the idea of destroying the walkie talkie, but unfortunately I still need it. "_We have backup headed your way!"_

"Negative." I reply, taking a great deal of pride in how much I sound like the guard. Mimicking voices has always been a talent of mine. "That won't be necessary. We have apprehended the intruder. I'm taking him inside for questioning now."

The footsteps halt. "_...Affirmative. Proceed."_

As I swipe the keycard again, I hear the first guard moan. He survived the attack? How inconvenient.

"You…" he groans. "You won't get away with-"

He is silenced when by boot makes contact with his head.

* * *

**AN: **Hey everyone!

Thank you all so much for all of the positive reactions to this story so far! I actually got a review on tumblr that actually made me cry a little bit.

Also, I know that the last chapter of Stress Fracture went up wrong, and I think I know what the problem was there, but for those of you who also read that story just be aware that the chapter was fixed and you can now read it in all of its trashy glory.

See you all on Saturday in Stress Fracture, and Thursday for the next installment here!

L8r.


	5. V

All of my memories from the last time I was in a Targent base are blurred. All I know is that it was a rush of pure adrenaline, and that the feeling of invulnerability allowed me to fly through to my goal without hindrance. It was almost like an out of body experience, like somebody else had taken the drivers seat and I was just along for the ride.

Why is this time so different?

I thought that accepting my wrath would produce the same results; that instinct would take over and leave me behind, but as I make my way deeper and deeper into Targent's base I realize that I am in full control of myself again. Which is absurd.

I accepted my wrath, why has it not taken over? It's not like it has died away; no, I still feel it simmering in my chest like a dormant dragon waiting for a chance to strike again, leaving me in control until that chance comes. I still feel driven toward my goal, but it is rather apparent to me that I am the one driving.

It's unnerving, to say the least.

Luckily for me, though, being left in control of my actions is not a hinderance, as I am not exactly unfamiliar with moving around unnoticed. In fact, I am having slight deja vu in remembering the last time I found myself trying to make my way around in a Targent base. Of course, last time I was trying to get _out _instead of _in, _but I suppose that's irony for you.

No, it is not being left in control of my body that is unsettling, it is being left in control of my mind that is throwing me off.

I still have the gun in my hand. I remember what I did to those guards back at the door, that I shot a man and left him bleeding. But even that is not rattling me.

What rattles me is that I can't bring myself to care.

Perhaps it is the smoldering embers of my rage that burn away my empathy, but the overwhelming horror and remorse that washed over me last time I became aware are nowhere to be found.

I tell myself that it is a good thing, that right now I need to put all of my focus into finding my friend and helping him escape. I tell myself that emotions will kick in again as soon as my mission is completed,and that it simply adrenaline that keeps them at bay for now.

I am becoming a very good liar.

* * *

It's not long at all until I find a map of the building. Apparently, it's so immense that they need to keep the layout posted so that employees don't get lost.

It also keeps masked vigilantes from getting lost, though, so that is a plus.

I remove my sunglasses momentarily as I examine the map. It's not like I expected there to see the word "dungeon" written in all caps, but it is surprisingly difficult to pinpoint where Targent might hold somebody captive. There are multiple office areas scattered throughout the building that might work, as well as labs and warehouse spaces that could all operate as a makeshift prison.

_Think, Desmond. This is just another puzzle. _

All of the offices have a name to them, and judging by the chipping paint they have been like that for a while. None have been changed recently, and that leads me to believe that all of them are occupied. While that doesn't take them out of the equation, I figure that it would hardly be suitable to keep a prisoner in an operational office, considering that any struggle would hinder productivity. I place them on the bottom of my priority list.

Trying to puzzle through the labs and the warehouses is more difficult. Either of those facilities would make a suitable prison and, with the correct precautions, could go unnoticed for extended periods of time. It takes more time than I care for, and I find myself growing impatient with the conundrum.

Finally, however, I notice that the label for a lab down by the warehouses has recently been whited out. It must have been repurposed rather recently, if they haven't been able to put a new title to it yet.

Bingo.

The bonfire in my chest roars back to life for a moment in approval. This is all I need to complete my mission.

The epiphany doesn't come a moment too soon. The moment I realize where to find my friend, I hear footsteps coming down the hall.

Time to go.

I swiftly move back around the corner that I came from, keeping out of sight of the approaching soldier. I melt back into the shadows as they pass by, leaving me behind completely unnoticed. I don't recognize either of them, which is certainly an improvement over last time. God knows, the last thing I need is to find out that another person that I know has defected to Targent.

Once I am sure that the soldiers have passed, I slink out of my hiding spot and make my way down the hall and open the door to the staircase.

_Hang in there, Mackintosh! I'm coming!_

* * *

It was getting pretty late.

Mackintosh stretched, stifling a yawn. He had been hard at work all day long, and it was almost time to head down to the barracks and turn in.

What a stroke of luck it had been, getting discovered by Targent! The moment Dr. Gallagher had seen his thesis, the professor had recommended to the young archaeologist that he present it to Targent. The doctor had said that the organization would be able to provide resources that could further his research, and he had been _beyond _correct. Already, Mackintosh had been able to delve further into his puzzle theory and begun work on the hidden cypher, trying to figure out its hidden meaning.

These last few days had been a marvelous adventure. Mackintosh swelled with pride whenever he thought about how much he had been able to accomplish in such a short time. Soon, he would surpass all others in the field of Azran research. Soon everyone would know the name Mackintosh Smith!

Still, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt when he remembered how he had come to accomplish this research. True, Desmond had already had his chance to bring this information to light, but Mackintosh couldn't get over the idea that he had stabbed his friend in the back. He would have to make it up to his partner later, and he knew exactly how he was going to do it.

As he delicately wrapped up the relic and tucked it into his bag, Mackintosh smiled, recalling his plan. Taking his research to Targent had delayed the publication of his thesis by several weeks, so he had plenty of time to research the relic independently. Once he had established himself in the field, however… that was when he could bring in other people.

Like a certain research partner, for example.

Desmond might have hidden the relic away, but after some time cooling down Mackintosh had realized that the curly haired man must have had his reasons. Once his jealous anger had faded away, the young archaeologist had come to the conclusion that he could still use his friends' help and that he still _wanted _it. So once he had finished this first phase of research, he was going to invite Desmond to join his research team as his partner.

As he fastened his bag and put the rest of his research notes away for the night, Mackintosh could barely hold back his grin at picturing Desmond's face when he discovered Targent. Surely, he would be overjoyed at the sight of such resources! And while he might be angry at Mackintosh at first for taking the relic without permission, he was sure Desmond would forgive him once he realized how much good he was doing for the archaeological community!

Smiling at his plan, Mackintosh put away the last of his notes before making his way over to the lightswitch -

_BANG!_

Mackintosh's hand clutched at his chest in surprise when the door flew open and a man clad in black charged in.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey everyone!

Sorry for the late update today. I posted something on my tumblr (bigkatie8) about it, but I've actually just started a new job and for the next few weeks I'm going to be posting later in the day than usual. No worries, though, I should still be able to post on my normal days, and after things die down a bit I should be able to get back to my normal times!

Feel free to review! I'd love to know what you all think of this weeks little plot twist.

L8r


	6. VI

Alright, so _perhaps _giving Mackintosh a heart attack wasn't my best plan ever. In retrospect, I really should not have burst in like that, considering that I had not even been sure that Mackintosh would have been here.

Oh well. Live and learn.

"Wh-what's going on?" Mackintosh sounds panicked, like he thinks he is under attack. "Who are y-?!"

"Shh!" I urge, pressing a finger to my lips. I have not come this far only to fail because we are being too loud.

The good news is that Mackintosh appears to be unharmed. He may be shocked, but so far it does not look like Targent has hurt him or tortured him for information. Despite the fact that we are still deep within a Targent base, I allow myself to feel momentarily relieved.

"What's going on?" Mackintosh asks. Even now that he is calming down, he still sounds terrified. The dragon within me growls and I feel my paternal instincts kick in. Targent will pay for whatever they have done to scare him so.

"It's alright." I reassure. "I'm here to help you."

My voice sounds different somehow, far deeper and more blunt than my everyday speech. I have accepted the flames within me, and now even my vocal chords are on fire.

"...Help?" He looks confused, like he is unfamiliar with the concept of help. "I don't understand, how could you-"

"There's no time!" I insist. "We have to move _now!_"

While he seems frightened, Mackintosh complies immediately. grabbing his satchel, he makes his way over to me and I rush him out the door and into the hall,

"Are we evacuating?" He asks, looking back at me in confusion. God, for somebody being rescued, Mackintosh sure asks a lot of questions.

"There's no time to explain." I growl impatiently, rolling my eyes behind my sunglasses. The fury within me stirs testily. This is a rescue mission, we can't afford to stop for exposition!

My irritation only grows as we make our way down the hall at a snails pace, stopping constantly to avoid soldiers as they pass by. I can tell that my hatred is starting to take control once again, for I find myself wishing I had torn my way down to the labs in a crest of blood so that I wouldn't have to worry about soldiers on the way back out. Next time, I'm designing a robotic weapon built specifically for tearing my way in and escaping at a moments notice.

We are passing by the last of the warehouses when something inside catches my eye and I freeze.

Somebody left the warehouse door open, and among the scattered papers spread out on the table is a sketch up of the Ambrosian crest. The _full _Ambrosian crest.

My mind races back to Paris, to the desk in my study. There is no way they could have found the relic without my knowing. No, it is simply not _possible._

Is it?

Mackintosh halts a few steps ahead once he realizes I have stopped. "...Is everything alright, sir?" he asks timidly.

I cannot even reply.

They found me. They found my home. They stole from me, they took my research and they are using it for their own selfish gain.

Whatever part of me is called Desmond Sycamore is draining away. The monster inside of me is coming alive - no, _I _am coming alive. This is what I am and this is what it is to live, I simply forget most of the time.

I live to _destroy._

"Sir, what's going on?" Mackintosh sounds anxious.

"Keep going." I spit out through clenched teeth. "There is an exit just ahead. Make your way right back to Université de la Seille, don't you dare stop along the way!"

"But why-"

"Just go!" I round on him. "I'll be right behind you, Mr. Smith. _Get out of here_!"

For a moment he hesitates, but Mackintosh makes a break for the exit before I have to urge him again. Good. That takes care of that.

Now I can take care of business.

* * *

The realization that something was amiss was coming far too late.

Granted, it was entirely possible that he should have known something was wrong the moment a ninja had burst into the lab. He had assumed that the man in black must have been some sort of high end security brought in by Targent. After all, he was working on one of their most important projects, if something were to go wrong they would make sure that his mind and his research were protected.

In the span of a few minutes, Mackintosh had gone from packing up his things at the end of the evening to running for his life within the span of twenty minutes. Something about his escort had been so intimidating that he didn't dare question the orders he was given. If something was wrong here and Targent needed to regroup at Université de la Seille then he would gladly do so. He just wished that his companion had not left him in such a panic, God only knew how bad he wanted somebody to protect him right now.

"Hey, you!" A voice called out. Mackintosh wasn't sure whether he should reply. Yes, the soldier calling to him was a Targent agent, but hadn't his bodyguard hidden him from other soldiers before? Was there some sort of skirmish within their ranks that was causing a schism within the organization?

"You!" The soldier called again when Mackintosh didn't stop."Freeze!"

As Mackintosh burst through the door in front of him, he was almost deafened by the sound of gunshots blasting from the soldier's gun.

* * *

I was wrong. There is not just one sketch of the relic in here. There are tons of them.

Everywhere I look is another mock-up, another sketch, another 3D model. I am surrounded by the full Ambrosian crest, I am drowning in its likeness.

This is not possible.

Targent has found the crest somehow. They are going to steal its secrets and weaponize any Azran technology that they find through their research.

_Desecrators._

I do not know how it is possible, I only know that it cannot be allowed to continue.

_Thieves._

They took my research. They took my friend. They took my family.

_They will take no more._

* * *

Mackintosh could hardly breathe, let alone keep running. He had been chased all the way to the perimeter of the property, so far out that he could see the entire complex from where he stood. Surely, no one had chased him this far. This might be the only chance he got to stop and take a breath.

He looked back over at the complex again in confusion. His bodyguard had told him not to stop, but he had also said that he would be right behind him. The young archaeologist scanned the grounds for any sign of the black clad man, but it was all in vain.

He could wait here, he was sure. He wasn't sure how to proceed without the help of the man who had broken him out before anyway, and he really needed to rest and regather his thoughts-

_BOOM._

Any thoughts he still had to regather were lost in the shock of watching the entire complex explode and erupt into flames.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey everybody!

Lots going on in this chapter! I've been thinking about posting all day, and now that I finally can I'm so excited! I hope you all like it as much as I do!

I'm sorry that posting has been so delayed lately, I'm still travelling so computer access is spotty. I'll do my best to keep everything on track though!

As always, feel free to review!


	7. VII

Raymond was just about to go to bed when he heard a knock on the door. Strange, his little house at the edge of Jean Sycamore's property almost never got visitors, not since Young Master Desmond had married Mistress Mary and moved away all those years ago.

Pulling on a robe over his pyjamas, Raymond made his way to the door. One more errand before the evening was over would not kill him, after all, and if someone was knocking on his door this late it must be urgent.

He did not recognize the man clad in black that was all but collapsed on his doorstep, but his protective instinct kicked in instantly. Even off the clock, Raymond was of a nurturing nature.

Kneeling down, Raymond reached out and placed a hand on the stranger's shoulder. Upon being touched, the man let out a groan.

"What's happened to you then, laddie?" The butler asked softly. It wasn't only the fact that the man had collapsed that hinted that he had been hurt rather badly, his black clothing was also ripped in places, revealing hardly healed scrapes and what appeared to be burns.

"R-Raymond…" The older man froze for a moment. He recognized that voice.

"...Master Desmond?" He asked tentatively, reaching out to remove the sunglasses and hat that concealed the other man's identity. Sure enough, it was none other than Desmond Bronev Sycamore who stared back at him in pain.

"Th-there was… an explosion…" Young Master Desmond seemed to be forcing the words out. "The whole branch… oh, God…"

"Save your energy, sir." Raymond instructed gently as he half carried the young man into the house. "It will all get sorted out, but right now you need to heal."

As he walked the Young Master in and laid him down on the sofa, Desmond let out an appreciative grunt. "Th-thank you, Raymond."

The butler nodded his acknowledgement, but did not stop to reply. He needed to collect some bandages quickly, as well as get some cool water and ointment for those burns. Luckily, Raymond always had a good amount of first-aid supplies in the cabinet below his sink, just in case of such an emergency. As he got to work pulling out the needed supplies, he spoke over his shoulder. "As soon as we get you cleaned up, I'll let Master Sycamore know that you're here. I'm sure he'll want to-"

"NO!"

Surprised by the force with which the Young Master spoke, Raymond turned back to him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. Desmond was clutching at his side - evidently, the outburst had been more than he could take - but he looked up at Raymond with resolution in his eyes.

"Pl-please…" he choked out. "He c-can't know that I am here. Pl-please, Raymond!"

Now, that was strange. It wasn't like Young Master Desmond to keep secrets, especially from Master Sycamore. And then there was the matter of hiding information from his master. Could Raymond bring himself to do such a thing?

Still, he could not bring himself to ignore the desperation in those eyes. "Please, you must promise… I m-must keep them safe from all… from all of this…"

Turning back to the stash of medical supplies Raymond quickly gathered what he needed and, after soaking a washcloth in cool water, made his way back to Desmond.

"You have my word, Young Master." He promised gently, dabbing the first of Desmond's burns with the wet washcloth. Whether it was the treatment or his promise that evoked a relieved sigh from Desmond, Raymond would never know.

"Thank you." the young man breathed out, sounding suddenly exhausted. Raymond shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, Young Master." he reassured softly.

"B-but I am worried, Raymond." When Desmond spoke again, his voice was filled with emotion, as if the words had been bottled up inside of him for a long time and he was finally letting them out. "I'm worried all the time. I c… I can't stop."

The reply gave Raymond pause. He had certainly not expected such a heavy response from a casual reassurance. Something was very, very wrong.

"...Why is that, Master?" He found himself prying not necessarily because he was curious, but because he was worried that whatever it was that was weighing on Desmond's mind might eat him alive.

The young man looked hesitant for a moment, but soon spoke up again. "Well… it all started a little over two years ago…"

* * *

I'm not sure if I should be worried about Raymond's silence. He has long since finished patching up my injuries - God, it feels good to be able to move again, even if it's just a little bit - and the sun is beginning to rise over the horizon as I finish my tale.

"So you burned it to the ground?" The Scotsman says finally.

"Yes." I reply. I cannot tell whether or not he is judging me, but even if he is I can hardly bring myself to care. It feels good to have finally told somebody my horrible secret in full detail.

"And you're sure about that?" He pries. "It's all gone?"

"There was nothing left." I can practically taste the smoke that nearly suffocated me, and my eyes sting at the memory of the ash rising into the air as the last of the fire died away in the rubble. "Nothing but myself."

"Well, I'm glad about that." Raymond slowly pushes himself up off of the sofa and makes his way over to the sink, filling up a kettle. "It would hardly have done Mistress Mary any good if you were burned to a crisp."

Despite myself, I let out a quick laugh. "No, but I think she might be getting used to it." I admit, my hand going up to fiddle with my glasses and coming back down once I remember that I am not wearing them. "I have been burning to a crisp for the past few years, I doubt that it would be anything new for her.

I can't tell from this far away without my glasses, but I think Raymond might be smiling. "I'm afraid I must disagree, Master." he sounds like he too is joking now. "I think she might notice if you came back from your research trip in an urn."

I chuckle again. "Perhaps." I agree. After a moment of uncomfortably fidgeting on the sofa, I speak up again. "And you won't tell her anything about this, right?"

"No, Master." I cannot put into words the relief that I feel upon hearing those words. "It's not really my secret to tell."

I can't really explain it, but something has transpired between us this past night. I have always known that Raymond would help me if I were to find myself in a pinch, but this is more than just someone helping an acquaintance. No, he has listened to me without condemning and has assisted me when I needed it most.

We have become more than acquaintances. No, we are more like companions. I trust him more now that I do almost anyone else in my life, save for Mary - no, perhaps just as much as Mary.

The silence is extended, but not uncomfortable. I can hear the whistling of the kettle before too long followed by the sounds of what I believe to be Raymond making his way back to the sofa - damn, I really wish I had not lost my glasses in the fire - and in moments he is clear again, and I see him put down a teacup in front of me and fill it up.

"Will that be the last of Targent, then?" He asks, pouring his own tea and sitting down next to me once again.

I shake my head ruefully. "No, I'm afraid they're still out there." I reply solemnly. "I have barely scratched the surface. This base was one of hundreds of Targent branches throughout Europe."

"Well then." Raymond takes a sip of his tea thoughtfully. "I suppose you have quite a lot of work in front of you, then."

"What?" I am slightly taken aback by the implication. "I… I'm afraid that I don't follow."

"Don't you?" Raymond sounds remarkable calm despite the absurdity of his claims. "Well, the way I see it, you can try to reason with them, negotiate with them, bargon… whichever pleases your fancy. But you will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder and praying that nobody comes for you. Or you can end it now."

I cannot reply.

The monster inside of stirs, pleased that somebody is finally condoning - no, _encouraging _it's existence. For the first time, it is not only me who wants to burn my enemies. I am being given complete permission to take them out, to eliminate the threat, and to protect everyone that I love…

"I-I can't think about this now." The words come out in a hurried panic as I put my teacup back on the tea table a bit too quickly, irritating my injuries in the process. Letting out a hiss of pain, I retract my arm, and the sudden movement causes tea to spill onto the table.

I mumble an apology as I massage my injured arm. I can't bear to look over at Raymond, for I can feel his pitying glance burning into me. God, why am I so _weak_? I know that Raymond is right and that I must take some sort of action - _don't get excited don't get anxious -_ but the thought of doing anything so drastic like that, of giving in and letting my hateful passion rule over me…

"Well, I'm going to go up to the house in just a minute." Raymond announces, standing up once again, dabbing up the spilled tea with a napkin. "You can stay here as long as you like, Master. Just promise that you'll rest up and get your strength back?"

"I… yes, of course." I reply with a small nod. "Thank you, Raymond."

When I look up at him again, Raymond is smiling. "Of course, Master."

* * *

**A/N: **Hey everyone!

Sorry this is so late, I've been pretty busy lately and haven't had time to upload to ff.n lately. I'm going to be uploading the next chapter of Stress Fracture right after this, and the next chapter of this story and Stress Fracture tomorrow, then I'll be publishing on Thursday and Saturday as per usual.


	8. Epilogue

It's almost boring to be back at school again after everything.

Perhaps it's because I was gone for an entire month, or perhaps it's that Raymond's advice has been weighing on my mind, but I find it incredibly difficult to focus on Rutledge's theories on Azran ruins when I know that I must decide on a course of action to deal with Targent.

I spot Mackintosh shifting uncomfortably a few rows down. Evidently, he too is having trouble concentrating, which is entirely fair for someone who was recently abducted and used for their mind.

I would know.

When we are finally dismissed I pack up in almost an instant. I can't bear to be in this stuffy classroom any longer, not when I have so much still left to consider. I just want to get home to my nice, quiet study and mull things over.

I am just stepping outside of the building when I hear a familiar voice calling my name.

"Desmond!" Mackintosh calls. "Desmond, wait up!"

For a moment I wonder if I can pretend that I didn't hear him, but ultimately my curiosity and the fact that I have genuinely missed my friend this past month win out. I turn back to him with the most sincere smile I can muster and hope that it is convincing.

"Mackintosh!" I greet in the friendliest way I can manage. "It's good to see you again."

"You too," he agrees, falling into step with me as we make our way out onto the campus. "You've been gone for quite some time now! What's it been, a month?"

"Ah, yes." I tug on my tie nervously. "Family emergency. You know how it is."

Thankfully, he does not press the matter. "Well, I'm glad that your back."

I nod by way of reply, and for a moment things fall silent between us. Still, I can't help but notice that he is fidgeting with his satchel, as if nervous about something. Surely, he doesn't know that it was I who rescued him, does he? He doesn't know what I did to that base and to all of those soldiers?

I open my mouth to ask him something indirect that would still answer my question, but he speaks up before I do. "Desmond, there's something very important that I have to tell you. Now."

Surprised by the sudden urgency, I oblige. "Very well." I respond, trying not to sound as guarded as I feel. "May I ask what it's regard-hey!"

"Not here!" Mackintosh whispers as he grabs a hold of my arm - Right on a burn too, and God that stings - and pulls me over behind the library before I have any say in the matter.

"What on earth is-?!" I start to demand, but Mackintosh shushes me, looking around as if to make sure nobody can see us.

He knows everything.

"Mackintosh, I can ex-"

"Shush, Desmond!" he whispers urgently. "This is important, so listen up!"

Well that's odd. He sounds far too eager, as if the discovery that his best friend blew up an entire research facility is somehow exciting -

It isn't until he opens up his satchel that I realize how wrong I am. No, this is impossible! There is no way this is happening!

But it is. The right half of the ambrosian crest stares back up at me from inside Mackintosh Smith's satchel.

"...Where did you get that?" My lips barely move as I ask the question, my eyes locked onto the vile piece of stone that has caused so much misfortune already. I pray that he tells me he found it in the Targent base. Yes, that is the only plausible explanation -

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, buddy." He replies far too casually. "It was an accident, though! It's not like I was digging through your desk on purpose. But anyway, that's not the point. An _amazing _research opportunity has…"

The rest of his words are lost as the rage within me roars to life. My eyes burn with furious tears until I can no longer see the relic in front of me. No, all I am seeing is a fiery red.

_Guilty._

My limbs move before I give them permission, but I don't care. I'm not fighting the fire anymore. If anything, I am fanning the flames. This is unjust. This is wrong. This will. not. continue.

I grab Mackintosh by the collar and slam him back into the wall of the library and the piece of the crest falls to the ground, shattering upon impact. Mackintosh looks shocked and hurt, but I can't bring myself to care. He deserves this.

_Traitor. Guilty. Guilty!_

"What have you _done?!_" I hiss at him through bared teeth. "Do you have any _idea _how much danger you've put us in?! Put my _family _in?!"

"D-Desmond," Mackintosh is holding his hands up in a pathetic plea for mercy. "Calm down-"

"_Calm down?!_" I slam him into the wall again. "You _stole _from me! You have endangered us _all! _No wonder you were abducted by _Targent!_"

"What?" He looks genuinely surprised. I remember a moment too late that he is not suppose to know that I know about Targent and a moment longer to realize that I don't care. I risked my life for this man and he turned out to be nothing but a traitor and a thief.

_Destroy._

"You _fool!_" I spit out, pressing back on his collar hard. "You -"

"Desmond, _stop it_!" After a moment's struggle, Mackintosh is able to slither out of my grasp. He takes a few steps away from me, stepping on the shattered pieces of the relic as he does so and breaking them further.

He stares at me in shock as he gasps for breath. I stare back in fury, equally breathless. We stand there for a moment just staring at one another.

After a moment, Mackintosh wordlessly shakes his head and runs away. I watch him go for a moment, then once he is gone I get to work cleaning up the pieces of the crest and tucking them into my briefcase.

He is not worth the chase anyway.

* * *

He betrayed my trust. He brought Targent to my home town. He practically brought them to my front door.

The shock and the hurt are very real, I am sure, but they do not hold a candle to my fury. I was betrayed by someone I called my friend - someone I called my _family. _

As far as I am concerned, Mackintosh Smith is as dead as Leon Bronev.

I had thought it had been the last straw when I had seen that hat in Mackintosh's apartment, and then again when I saw the crest in that warehouse, but I hadn't known anything. I had been a younger, more foolish version of myself. In the hour ever since I left campus, that old me has burned away along with all of his foolish indecisiveness.

No more will I say that I will tolerate no more without taking action. No more will I hide in fear and pray that nothing bad happens to me. No more will I endanger those I love by my idleness.

No more.

As I slide the desk drawer shut and lock away the wretched pieces of stone that were once the Ambrosian crest, I pick up my telephone and dial a number.

It is time to take action.

"_Jean Sycamore's residence._" The Scottish voice comes over the phone after a moment of ringing.

"Raymond." My voice comes out as that new, low, burning voice I had become accustomed to in the Targent complex. "We have a lot of work to do."

My real mission begins now.

* * *

**A/N:** Hey everyone!

Sorry for falling out of my publishing schedule! Between training for the new job and moving and generally getting situated, I wasn't really able to get online a lot until recently. The good news is I'm back now, and boy am I ready to publish again!

This is the last chapter for this story, but worry not! The next installment of the _Forged in Fire_ series comes next week! In the meantime, please let me know what you think so far!

Special thanks to everyone who has reviewed and favorited this work and/or any/all of my other stories! I noticed each and every one of you even while I was away and it made me smile.

L8R~


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